


Thoughts of Those Left Behind

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Perspectives, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Series perspectives of the important people in Neal Caffrey’s life</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June

**June:**

        The handsomely stylish doyenne sat in her elegant parlor listening to old jazz on the antiquated turntable. The soft, comforting notes of the music seemed to slide effortlessly over one another sending her deep within her memories to another time, another place. She was young then, as was Byron, and their life was a wild rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. But it had never been boring; it had been exhilarating, and their love was deep and enduring through it all. However, as is true in life, time marched on with resolute swiftness. She and Byron moved into the twilight of their years, and then he suddenly left her, creating a hole in her soul that she didn’t think would ever be filled. But what choice did she have but to go on without him?

          With a quiet dignity, she did what Byron had taught her to do. She donned her armor and presented to the world what they expected to see. She became a respectable matron, working on the right charities, endowing the right institutions, indulging her grandchildren. She kept up the pretense of enjoying her golden years even though her heart wasn’t in it. When she was finally able to come to terms with letting a little part of Byron go, she gathered up his impeccable clothes and set out for a date with destiny.

        People always suspected that Neal had conned her right from the onset so that he was able to live in the lap of luxury during his parole. She smiled at how little those ignorant people understood about their beginning. When she had first laid eyes on that beautiful young man, she saw right through the boyish charm, and he realized, with a conman’s intuitiveness, that he was an open book for her to read, page after page. They both recognized kindred spirits—souls that would never walk on the straight and narrow path for very long. But, right at that minute, they were simply two human beings who were hurting and in need of comfort. And that is what she gave the young man, who was so heartsick and wanting. She gave him a loft in her ritzy mansion, and she gave him the well-being of acceptance and the knowledge that he had nothing to fear from her. In return, that blaze of exuberant life force rescued her from her melancholy, and made her feel young and vital and valued again.

        Neal, with his ongoing parade of friends and visitors, and even his keeper who often dropped by his loft, all made life interesting and challenging once again for June. His capers were fun, especially the ones where she was able to trot out her own conning expertise to aid and abet. Only Peter seemed wise enough to suspect how deep her involvement went, but she made sure that he could never prove anything. None of her skills had atrophied; she was still as sharp as she ever was, maybe even better.

        As the years progressed, it came as a surprise to her when she realized that she had come to love this impetuous young man. He had appeared in her life while still in his twenties, little more than a boy, in her estimation. However, by that time, he had already lived a life fraught with adversity and sadness that had matured him well beyond his years. During his days under her roof, she had become the quiet observer who watched him ultimately mature into an older version of himself, more cynical, yet still trusting. He never lost his sense of compassion or his good heart, and he never wavered in his constant quest to protect those whom he loved. She was going to miss him so much!

        Upon introspection, however, June comforted herself with knowing that she was the only one that Neal trusted implicitly to help with his last, and perhaps his greatest con. They had brainstormed together for days before he attempted to pull it off so that there were no chinks that could turn it all into a farce. It had to be perfect, and it was!

        June had understood that Mozzie could not be part of the equation this time, and she gently tried to explain this to him after it had all gone down. Even though she cherished the brilliant, quirky little wine enthusiast/conspiracy theorist, he was no front man. He simply would not have been able to pull off the con in a believable fashion because he wore his emotions on his sleeve when he was upset, and his distress and grief needed to be authentic when the time came.

        She had played her part impeccably. With quiet dignity and fortitude in the face of great sorrow, she had insisted on claiming Neal’s “body” from the hospital morgue as soon as it was released. Then she expediently arranged for immediate cremation. There would be no memorial service; she really no longer wished to see anyone from the FBI’s White Collar division, especially Neal’s handler.

        Peter Burke, in the end, had been a disappointment to June. She had watched with trepidation as Neal came to admire and trust the agent who held his leash during their tenure together. Time and again, the conman had offered his loyalty to the one person who was capable of breaking him into pieces. And that is what had happened with methodical precision. In passive/aggressive fashion, Peter sometimes protected his protégé; at other times, Neal was left on his own to protect himself in the only way that he knew how. He offered Peter his allegiance and his friendship; Peter told him that he was nothing more than a criminal. Peter always held his trust just out of reach, or he professed that it came with a disclaimer or caveats. Each little cut was a stab to June’s heart as well. That’s how it felt when those whom you considered family were hurt. Ultimately, it was the federal bureaucracy that had played Neal for a naïve fool because of Peter. She could never forgive that, even if Neal would be inclined to do so. His loving and forgiving heart would always be his undoing.

        June sighed, rose from the armchair, and poured another Drambuie. The sweet, golden liqueur slid smoothly down her throat. Many people considered it to be a lady’s libation, which made June snort her derision at the thought. She was no lady! She was still one savvy old broad who now needed to get away from it all for a while. Perhaps Paris—yes, Paris in the springtime had a nice ring to it!

 


	2. Elizabeth

**Elizabeth** :

        Elizabeth rocked and soothed her fussy, teething son until that beautiful little face relaxed into quiet slumber. Instead of putting the infant gently back into his crib, she continued to stare wonderingly at him, an innocent little miracle who had blazed his way into her and Peter’s world like a comet. Their lives, or the lives that they had previously known, had changed irrevocably. Actually, so very many things had changed. Peter was not the same man that he had been, and the cause for that was not merely the birth of his son. Paradoxically, it was a death—Neal’s tragic death—that had forever changed Peter by ripping open a hole in his heart that still ached, even though he tried valiantly to hide his grief from her.

        Neal’s specter was always present, it seemed. Her husband and his CI had crammed a lifetime of experiences into a few short years, and the handsome, young conman, who came with enough baggage to fill a freight car, would continue to have a lasting effect on Peter. Even in death, he plagued Peter’s thoughts. There was remorse and guilt and questions of “what if” that Peter admitted to her sometimes late at night in the solitude of their bedroom. El just wished that he could let go of what could have been, and embrace the life that fate had bestowed on him now. His CI was no longer part of that life and her husband needed to move on.

        It wasn’t as if El was cold and unfeeling. She had liked Neal well enough; you couldn’t help yourself when you were pulled in by his magnetism and charisma. Elizabeth smiled and allowed herself to reminisce about the man whose name her son bore. If Elizabeth were being honest, she had to admit that having the amiable conman in their lives was endearing at first. It was obvious that he was devoted to Peter, but by exhibiting grace and patience, Neal soon made her realize that, in his own way, he loved her, too. He seemed to place her on a pedestal, always eager to please and acquiescing to her every wish and her sometimes-emphatic demands and ultimatums. El always felt safe around him. However, she feared for her husband’s safety when he became embroiled in Neal’s escapades time after time. What bothered her was that her husband seemed to relish getting involved!

        How cavalier and smug she had been when she professed to Sarah Ellis that she loved and accepted her husband for who he was, and she never wanted to change that. She realized that was a very naïve perspective, and really far from the truth. She wanted her husband to be safe, as far away from danger as possible, and that had never happened while Neal remained by his side. She remembered all the times that Peter’s life had been put in jeopardy because of his CI. She shuddered when she remembered all the instances that his career was placed in peril. Above all, she remembered Peter in a hospital bed, and the ultimate horror—Peter in a prison cell!

        Thankfully, now he was safely ensconced behind a White Collar desk with a nameplate on his door denoting his status as ASAC. He had the respect and esteem that he deserved, and he didn’t wear out any shoe leather pounding the streets of New York chasing bad guys. He had paid his dues in spades, so there were now people under his supervision who did those scary things, like putting their lives on the line to make the world a better place. Her husband left punctually at the end of the workday to come home to her and their child. He was first and foremost a husband and a father before he was an FBI agent. All was right in her world, but she sometimes wondered if all was right in her husband’s. Was he truly happy with how his life had eventually turned out, or was he just playing a role that he thought she wanted for him?

 

 


	3. Mozzie

 

**Mozzie:**

        Growing up on the streets of Detroit, Mozzie liked to think that he was immune to emotional hurt. Taunts and barbs from other kids caused him to grow a thick skin, and the lack of a connection to parents who had abandoned him made him resilient and strong. At least that was the premise that his existence was based on. It was what he told himself over and over until he started to believe his own propaganda. He was the ultimate realist—there were no happy endings, so don’t expect one. The only person that you can rely on is yourself. Most people had an agenda and were out to get you if you allow it. Do not let anyone close enough to get past your moat and breach your ramparts. The long list of pre-emptive clichés went on and on, and he could always parrot an erudite quote from some noteworthy person to validate his acumen.

        Then one fateful day in Washington Square, a skinny kid in old ratty jeans and a head full of unruly hair entered his orbit. And, as they say, the rest was history. Neal walked into Mozzie’s life and did the unthinkable—he never left. Everyone else in the little man’s life had barely crossed the threshold of his existence before they turned and walked back out the door. Neal wanted to stay; he actually seemed to like Mozzie and considered him a mentor. He never snickered, berated, or condescended; he never tried to make Mozzie change into a less cynical or less paranoid persona. He just accepted Mozzie as he was, a unique friend that was valued. This whole scenario was a novel concept for a loner like himself, but a comforting one, nonetheless.

        Mozzie began to think of himself and Neal as the “dynamic duo.” There wasn’t anything that they couldn’t do when they put their minds to it. No heist was too complex, no feat of daring too daunting. Neal was the perfect front man. People instinctively trusted and liked him. He had the proverbial gift of gab with just the right touch of charming modesty to gain a mark’s trust. Their capers always played to that strength, but Neal also had a brilliant intellect and shrewdness, and an uncanny ability to improvise on the fly. Add to the mixture, Mozzie’s almost genius propensities, and the total package was pretty much perfect. Well, almost perfect, because like any tragic figure in literature, Neal had one fatal flaw—his innately good heart.

        The trusting young man had a dichotomy of the soul, always wanting what he was never destined to have. First, there was Kate, luring Neal into believing that he wanted to place the world at her feet so that they could settle down in a cozy little cottage somewhere and have fat, happy babies. Mozzie had tried to warn his protégé that happy endings were never bestowed on guys of their ilk. Then Peter Burke had ridden in on his white steed and dangled the father façade in Neal’s face. It had all been smoke and mirrors, an illusion of acceptance and camaraderie built on shifting sands. Peter had used Neal for his own agenda and Mozzie knew, beyond a doubt, that Neal would always be just a means to an end for the FBI agent; he would always remain a criminal in Peter’s mind no matter how many times he took Neal home to his house and fed him a meal!

        It boggled Mozzie’s mind that Neal couldn’t get the concept that he was being manipulated, and would continue to be used until he put a stop to it. But like Sisyphus of Greek mythology, Neal continued to roll an immense boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down and crush him time and time again. Actually, it tore at Mozzie’s heart because, unbelievably, he had come to love his best friend.

        The little conspiracy theorist thought that the world, as he knew it, had come to an end with his friend’s “death.” His grief was so profound that the vulnerability of it scared him. It had flayed him wide open to all who were there to see. But now, with the wisdom of hindsight, he realized that it was not cruelty that caused Neal to foist the ruse on him. Neal was counting on the naked enormity of Mozzie’s heartache to sell the premise to Peter.

        When June had first taken Mozzie into her confidence, a myriad of emotions cascaded through his mind. They ran the gamut from disbelief, to joy, to hurt, to anger and then back to joy. Somehow, the cosmos had righted itself again, and the game was on. The brilliant concept of Neal’s con was unbelievably serpentine and executed with perfect precision. This was the Neal that Mozzie knew, the Neal that his friend had kept quiescent during all of his time being joined at the hip to the FBI. Now he and Mozzie were still the quintessential partners who could share in their bounty. Mozzie was in possession of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow in the form of millions of untraceable US currency. They could live the life that they had always dreamed of having. He just had to stay in place for a little while before disappearing into the ether. Meanwhile, he had a plethora of Berlitz French language discs to put his time to good use.

        Mozzie sometimes wondered why Neal bestowed such admiration on Peter Burke’s intelligence. Yes, the man was capable of making some intellectual leaps from time to time, but Neal could always run circles around him when he put his mind to it. So, Mozzie was confounded by Neal’s latest request for him to point the dull FBI agent in the right direction. Mozzie liked to think that dispatching Peter to that storage locker, after a huge nudge via a wine cork, was Neal’s way of taunting the agent by rubbing the con in his face. “Connect the dots, Peter, after you internalize all the information that the many, many clues provide. Now you will realize that during all those years I had simply allowed you to think that you were better at this game than me. In the end, I am the virtuoso and you are merely second fiddle.”

        A very small part of Mozzie, the part that he wanted to ignore, was that Neal’s good heart simply could not allow the man that he loved and admired to live with grief any longer. But Mozzie wasn’t going to go there!

 


	4. Peter

 

**Peter:**

        Peter was lost in reverie once again as he reclined on his living room sofa and sipped his beer. This reminiscing about Neal had been happening so often during the course of this last year. Time had not dulled the ache, because he continued to see flashes of the handsome conman when he least expected it. Right now, he pictured that first time that he had laid eyes on the infuriating young man outside of a bank in Manhattan. “Brazen” was the word that came to mind, and so “very young” and “innocent looking” were the adjectives that followed. It was the beginning of a saga.

        As the investigation took shape with the aid of international law agencies abroad, this clever thief and con artist became more fleshed out and real for Peter. He knew the kid’s height, his eye color and his shoe size. He knew his food and wine preferences, and his foreign language proficiency. Peter was in possession of all the vital statistics and facts, and what he saw was amazingly brilliant as well as dauntingly intimidating.

        It became a personal challenge for Peter to keep up, and, in the years that ensued, almost a vendetta against an annoyingly appealing nemesis who had glommed onto Peter as his archrival. Although he never openly admitted it, Peter feared that just maybe he wasn’t smart enough to nab this guy. In retrospect, the FBI agent always considered Neal’s capture as less than the sterling moment of his career. He had not outsmarted Neal; he had simply lured a heartsick young fool to his downfall.

        Peter knew early on in his childhood that he was an over-achiever. It spilled over into every facet of his life from school, to baseball, to a career in the renowned FBI. He craved success and all the accolades that accompanied it. Neal’s capture was a feather in his cap and his claim to fame at the Bureau. However, it’s hard to maintain your balance on some loft pinnacle; you have to keep producing miracles for people to believe the hype and to take you seriously.

        The “Dutchman” could very well have relegated Peter back to the mundane hoards because he was so very shrewd. Eventually, this devious villain was the impetus that made Peter swallow his pride and drag an eager young criminal from prison, slap a leash on him and gave him the scent of their quarry. “Make me look good, Neal,” became Peter’s mantra. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that perhaps that had become the real lifeline that sustained the partners for over three years, rather than Peter’s claim that he was trying to reform the wayward man in his custody.

        Peter was not blinded to the fact that on any given day, Neal had his own agenda. But the agent also realized that, little by little, he had gained the young man’s trust and loyalty. It was an intoxicating experience to realize that he held this kind of power over Neal. It was, like-wise, a humbling experience to know that he had blatantly used that fealty while withholding his own acceptance and appreciation of the con artist. Early on, he had tentatively invited the man into the private part of his life, and then arrogantly thrown up walls that denied him access. Time and again, he had continued to remind Neal that he was a criminal and that is all he would ever be. Well, if you box someone into a corner repeatedly, and preach your sermon long enough, they’ll start to believe it. “You reap what you sow, Peter Burke,” he now chided himself.

        The “I should haves” and the “I could haves” now plagued the guilt-stricken FBI agent. The remorse that he experienced when he had gazed down at Neal in the morgue had hit the quixotic agent like a sledgehammer. Neal’s last words to him reverberated in his head ………. “You’re the only one that ever saw good in me. You’re my best friend.” Neal never lied to Peter, and the older man was sure that he hadn’t with what appeared to be his last breath.

        As before, Peter was the recipient of heady honors for bringing down the infamous Pink Panthers. He never could have done it without Neal. The victory somehow felt like a sham because the cost had been too high. Elizabeth did not understand why he couldn’t move past his loss. He had so much to be thankful for now, his son being the main thing. Peter would always love and cherish that little miracle, but swapping one Neal for another did not make his sorrow any easier to bear. Guilt gets its talons into you, and you cannot extricate yourself from its clutches without tearing into your own body.

        Peter sighed. He did that a lot lately. He stared down at the key in his hand, the very one that had allowed him access to Aladdin’s cave yesterday. Seeing the anthology of Neal’s greatest con from start to finish was seeing Neal at his very best. Peter never had a clue, never saw it coming, and was in awe of the painstaking planning and precision that had created his CI’s last and possibly greatest miracle. In his gut, he knew that Neal had done what he had to do to protect those that he loved. He couldn’t take the risk that there would be repercussions from associates of the Panther gang.

        Over their tenure together, Neal had always been the one to sacrifice for Peter and for El. As his ultimate sacrifice, he was letting his “friend” in on the secret of his existence so that Peter could get on with his life and stop living with regrets and guilt. He smiled softly, because now Neal could re-invent himself yet again and become whatever he wanted to be. He was truly free and Peter would take his secret to the grave because Peter could not abide the thought of Neal again being caged behind steel bars, or with an anklet encircling and limiting his life. The bureaucracy that provided Peter’s paycheck could not be trusted, as they had all learned the hard way. So, for once, he would protect Neal. It would not make up for the past. It wouldn’t even make a dent in what he owed this man, but it was a start.

        Peter raised his beer bottle in a celebratory toast … “Have a good life, Neal, now that you’re finally free. You’re a good man and you deserve every bit of happiness that you can find. I wish you well, and maybe someday we’ll meet again!”

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that many readers will have a different perspective, and I respect that. If you disagree, please be kind in your criticism. I will respond to any comments, but it may be after the holidays.


End file.
